


Past the Crick

by celestialrebel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Fluff, Frottage, Hunter Dean, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Nurse Castiel, reunited, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialrebel/pseuds/celestialrebel
Summary: When Dean’s six years old, he meets a little boy he believes to be magical. They become friends quickly, but then tragedy befalls the Winchester family. Dean’s life turns into one long road trip, and he has to leave his friend behind.A few decades later, Cas Tate’s working as a geriatric nurse at Edlund Nursing Home, the place his sweet grandmother spent the last years of her life. One day, a handsome yet awkward FBI agent bursts into the nursing home and Cas’s life, claiming they used to know each other and that monsters are real. Cas is certain he’s never met this man before, but he believes the part about monsters. There’s something about it that rings true and familiar.Maybe almost too familiar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank [kindathewholepoint](https://kindathewholepoint.tumblr.com/) for being a thorough and kind beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own. Being the procrastinator that I am, I did some last minute changes. My own mistakes are very possible.
> 
> And of course, a huge thank you to my wonderful artist [aurielsh](https://aurielsh.tumblr.com/)!! The art you provided for this story is gorgeous and inspirational, and it was a pleasure working with you!! Watching you bring this story to life with your beautiful illustrations took my breath away! ETA: The art is embedded in the fic, but now you can also check it out [here!](https://aurielsh.tumblr.com/post/167310554147/my-art-for-celestialrebels-gorgeous-dcbb-story)
> 
> Also, a big thanks to the lovely mods for all their hard work!
> 
> And thank you to anyone who gives this story a chance. I hope you will enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Dean rolls the balled-up paper scrap between his forefinger and his thumb, the once pristine white turned brown and grubby. He gingerly loads it into his homemade slingshot, pulls the bands taught, and lines up his shot.

He’s got the target — Sammy’s open, drooling mouth — right in his crosshairs when he hears the bedroom door squeak, startling him into dropping his weapon.

“Dean!” his mother whisper-shouts at him. “Get out here this instant!”

He scurries out the door, excuses already forming behind his lips even though none of them will work on his shrewd mother. Mary leads him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she whips around and looms over him, arms akimbo and brow furrowed. Dean does his best to look contrite.

“Dean Winchester, did I just catch you in your brother’s bedroom during his nap-time, fixing to shoot something down his throat?”

Dean keeps his eyes trained on the floor tiles, rubs his toe against the smooth, cool surface.

“I’m waiting on an answer, young man.”

“It was just some paper,” he mumbles, glancing up to see how his mom takes the admission.

“And why were you going to shoot paper in his mouth?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess I was just bored.”

“And what do we say in this house about being bored?”

“If you’re bored, then you’re not using your brain,” Dean recites his mother’s words back to her. He’s heard it enough times he should know better than to admit boredom in her presence, but lying would be worse. And he _is_ bored. Summer break started three weeks ago, and already Dean’s hankering to go back to school.

“So you’re curing your boredom by torturing you brother?”

“Ah, Mom. I didn’t want to torture him. I just wanted him to wake up! Then we could play together, and I wouldn’t be bored anymore. So see? I was using my brain.”

Mary fights a smile, and Dean hopes that means he’s on her good side again.

“Alright, little man, how about this. If you go outside and pick me enough mulberries to make a pie, then we’ll have that for dessert after supper tonight. What do you think?”

“Really, do you mean it?” Dean bounces on his toes, barely able to contain his excitement. He can already taste the sweet, warm berries crunching between his teeth.

“Do you know where your bucket is?” his mother asks.

“Yep, I know right where I put it in the garage!”

“Okay, you know how full you need to fill it.”

“I sure do!” Dean hollers over his shoulder as he’s running out the door.

“You should wear shoes, Dean!” Mary shouts after him.

“Aw, mom! Then my feet won’t get all purple!”

“Well, don’t come crying to me when you get a sticker or stub your toe on a rock, young man!” Mary says, though her voice is light and teasing.

“I won’t, Mom!”

Dean’s already in the garage by now, rummaging through tackle boxes and old tools to find his trusty red bucket. It has a line on it that Mom drew with permanent marker to show him how full he needs to fill it to have enough berries for a pie. The amount always ends up more than Dean thinks it should be. He used to run to the house, over-eager to get to the pie-making process, only to have his mother send him back for more berries. The line saved him from making a dozen trips from the tree row to the house, and his mother the exasperation of telling him _No, Dean. That’s_ still _not enough for a pie._

As he runs toward the tree row behind their small farmhouse, Dean hears his mother shout.

“Don’t you dare go past the crick, Dean Winchester!”

Dean just waves his arm at her in acknowledgment. He’s not sure he wants to make any binding verbal contracts restricting his playing grounds. But waving is enough to appease his mother anyhow.

About an hour later, when Dean’s hands and feet (and surely mouth) are stained violet, he looks down at his pathetic gatherings in the bucket. There are barely enough mulberries to cover up the bottom, much less fill it to the Pie Line, as Dean likes to call it.

They _have_ been having a lot of mulberry pies lately, seeing how his mother sends him out here about twice a week to keep him from climbing the walls or “torturing” Sammy. Most of the ones left on the trees are still green and bitter.

And, well, Dean may have indulged in a few of the remaining ripe berries during the picking process. Just to make sure they were still good. (They were.)

He’s climbed all the mulberry trees by now, and reached the highest berries he could reach. He’s shaken branches then climbed down the ground to collect the fallen fruit. There’s just not enough berries to make a pie, and that simply will not do.

Dean makes his way to the crick, presses his toes into the watery mud alongside the flowing stream. He considers his options.

He could simply go on home, and his mom would probably let him have an ice cream sandwich or a fudgesicle for dessert this evening. But ice cream sandwiches and fudgesicle don’t have anything on Mom’s fresh, warm, homemade mulberry pies.

He _could_ go past the crick and look for some more mulberry trees. He’s nearly certain there are more out there. This could lead to him getting in trouble, but Mom doesn’t have to know. And she only wants him to stay near the house so he won’t get lost or get hurt, but he’s smart enough to be careful not to do either of those things. He’s almost six and a half, after all, and he’ll be in first grade when school starts again. He’s practically grown up.

With his mind made up, Dean splashes his way through the shallow water, taking care not to let any of his precious few berries fall in. Despite getting completely soaked in the crick, his feet are still purple when he comes out the other side. He knows from experience that mulberry stains are something that require soap and lots of scrubbing to get out.

The other side of the crick doesn’t seem so scary or even that different from his side. He wanders around, exploring for a bit.

There are all kinds of trees surrounding him, but he can’t seem to find any more mulberry trees. In a move his mother would call careless, he keeps his eyes trained up, looking for any sight of the dark little berries poking out from the leaves.

He doesn’t find any, but he does find something: a sliver of dark brown, up in the sky not apparently stuck to any tree. It’s there for a moment, then gone the next, the fluffy clouds seeming to want to hide it away from sight.

Dean stops and watches carefully, certain it wasn’t a figure of his imagination. The clouds shift and Dean sees it again. This time he sees more of it, and he follows the path of it in the sky.

Before he even realizes it, Dean’s running. He watches as this brown sliver in the sky twists and grows larger, barely remembering the bucket full of berries squeezed tightly in his hand.

He’s so utterly fixated on the curious thing that he doesn’t realize the rest of the trees have become sparse the further he’s run.

The thing keeps getting bigger until suddenly it’s attached to an even larger thing, and that’s when Dean realizes what he’s been running toward.

“It’s a root!” he shouts, just before he runs square into a leaf-covered branch.

“Ugh!” he grumbles, pushing the scratchy twigs out of his face.

“You should have watched where you were going,” says a small voice from somewhere above him.

The voice startles him, and he peeks through the leaves, finding a pair of blue eyes looking back at him.

“What is this?” Dean asks.

“It’s a tree, of course,” the voice says.

Dean takes a few steps back, and takes in the sight before him. It _is_ a tree, but not like any tree Dean’s ever seen.

“It’s— it’s upside-down!”

Sure enough, the sliver he was trailing before turned out to be a root, one of the many spindling out of the huge trunk in all directions through the sky, as though it was planted in the clouds.

And further down, where the leafy branches spread throughout the top (bottom?) of the tree, sits a little boy about Dean’s age. He simply shrugs at Dean’s obvious statement.

“It is,” he confirms.

“Well _how_?”

The boy shrugs again, nonchalant in the face of Dean’s astonishment.

“It’s my tree,” he says. “It’s always been upside-down.”

“It’s so cool!” Dean shouts, unable to hide his excitement.

The boy’s face barely changes, but Dean’s pretty sure he’s on the verge of a smile.

“Thank you.”

“Can I climb up?” he asks. The boy said it was his tree, after all, so he figures it best to ask for permission.

This time the little boy with blue eyes can’t stop one side of his mouth from ticking up into a grin.

“I suppose that would be alright,” he says.

“Awesome!”

Dean wastes no time scrambling up the branch, but it’s a bit tricky trying to climb from this direction. The branches are too small and he fumbles clumsily. A quiet giggle comes from above him.

“Hey!” he says. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Here, let me help,” the boy says. Dean doesn’t really appreciate the humor in his voice, but he supposes maybe he does look a bit silly. And this boy’s being nice enough to let him into his magical upside-down tree, so he can’t hold too much of a grudge against him.

With the ease of a monkey, the boy swoops down several branches to where Dean is caught in the leafy ends of the limbs. He reaches out his hand and helps yank Dean onto a sturdier branch.

“Thanks,” he says, and the boy just smiles at him. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” the boy asks instead of answering.

“Dean. Nice to meet ya!” Dean holds out his hand for the boy to shake but the action throws him off balance, and he nearly topples of the branch altogether, but the boy catches him with deft hands.

“It’s kinda hard sitting in an upside-down tree, but you’re really good at it,” Dean says.

“I’m used to it,” says the boy. “I’ve lived in this tree my whole life.”

“You _live_ here?” Dean squeaks.

“Yes.”

“Whoa!” Dean cries, and in his excitement nearly slides off the wrongly-slanted branch again, but again the boy catches him.

“Maybe you should hang on tight until you get used to it,” he says. “My name is Castiel.”

“Well, Cas. If you’ve lived here forever, how come I’ve never seen you before? I live a little bit that-a-way.” Dean almost points the direction of his house, but thinks better of it and keeps a tight grip on his branch. He jerks his head in the direction of his house instead.

“I didn’t say I’ve always lived _here_. I said I’ve always lived in this tree.”

“Trees can’t move,” Dean says.

“Mine can,” Castiel replies.

They stare at each other for a moment. Dean tries to decide if Cas is lying, but the other boy holds his head high and proud.

“Cas,” Dean says in his most serious voice.

“What?” Castiel asks warily.

“You are the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

The boy lets a real smile take over his face this time, and Dean just beams back at him. He’s fairly certain he just made a new friend.

“What’s in your bucket?” Castiel asks.

“Oh!” Dean nearly reaches for it but remembers himself in time. “I’m picking mulberries. My mom’s gonna make a pie.”

“Your mom makes pie out of mulberries?”

“Yep, but I think she’s made us too many lately. I can’t find enough to fill my bucket to the Pie Line. All the trees are practically bald.”

“I can help with that.”

“Really? How?”

“I’ll show you.”

Dean’s seen acrobats before, when his parents took him and Sammy to the circus, and that’s what he thinks of while watching Cas maneuver through the branches of his tree. One moment he’s in front of Dean, the next he’s winding down to where Dean’s bucket sits in the grass. He brings it back up to Dean with just as much agility.

“Do you think you can let go with one hand and hold on to the bucket?”

“Uh,” Dean says. He white-knuckles the branch with his right hand and shakily holds out the left. Castiel slips the white plastic handle into his fingers, and Dean immediately wraps his arm around the branch to give himself more stability.

“Good job, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean can tell he’s trying to be encouraging, even if it doesn’t seem to come naturally for him. “Just give me one moment.”

Castiel then reaches above himself to pull down a branch and holds on tight. He closes his eyes and a line forms between them as he mouths some words Dean can’t understand.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

“Shh!”

“What are you doing,” Dean whispers, soft as he can. For some reason, this makes Castiel chuckle.

“You’ll see.”

“See what?”

“Look,” Castiel says, holding out the branch to Dean. For a moment Dean just stares blankly, unsure of what he’s supposed to be looking at. Then suddenly, green berries start sprouting up rapidly among the leaves.

“Are those…?”

“Yes.”

Mulberries. And they’re growing quickly, plumping up and turning dark purple before Dean’s very eyes.

“Whoa. This really is a magic tree!”

“Hold out the bucket, Dean.”

With more confidence this time, Dean unwraps his arm from around the branch and holds the bucket beneath the limb Castiel holds. Cas gives it a steady shake and berries rain into the bucket until it’s filled exactly to the Pie Line.

Dean can’t help the thrilled whoop that escapes his mouth at such a sight. “I can’t wait to tell Sammy about this! He’s gonna think it’s so cool!”

“Who is Sammy?” Castiel asks as he lets the branch go.

“My little brother. He’s still just little, but he’s smart. He’s gonna love your tree, Cas.”

“He can’t come.”

Dean flinches at the hardness of Castiel’s voice.

“Why not? I promise you guys’ll like each other.”

“No one else can come here. You aren’t even supposed to be here. I’d get in trouble if… if someone found out. You can’t even tell anyone. Please, Dean.”

“Oh,” Dean says, trying not to be too disappointed. The tree is still awesome, and Castiel is awesome. He wishes he could tell Sammy and even Mom, though she’d definitely ground him for going past the crick.

On the other hand, a lot of the kids at school have secret clubs, and Dean’s always wanted to be part of one. This could be his opportunity.

“So it’ll just be a secret between you and me?”

“Yes, just us.”

“Deal!” Dean says. “But we’ll need a secret handshake!”

“It might be difficult for that when you can’t let go of the tree,” Castiel teases. Dean’s starting to get used to his teasing faces, even if they aren’t that different from his serious faces.

“Okay, then how ‘bout our secret handshake is that we just stare into each other’s eyes real hard. For like, ten whole seconds!”

Castiel doesn’t respond, just fixes his eyes onto Dean’s as Dean does in return, counting the Mississippis in his head. When he reaches ten-Mississippi, Dean breaks the stare to throw his head back and shout.

“Woo hoo! We’re in The Magic Tree Club now!”

+++++

The Magic Tree Club carries on throughout the summer. Dean makes clandestine visits to Castiel whenever he can find the chance to sneak away. It turns out Cas can make any kind of fruit grow from the tree, not just mulberries. Dean eats fresh, juicy peaches and plums, strawberries and apricots, anything he wants. Cas just has to say his strange words and the tree provides. He tries to teach Dean the words a few times, but they’re in another language, and they’re too clunky and foreign in Dean’s mouth.

Castiel’s so smart, and he teaches Dean all kinds of things. Sometimes he’ll tell Dean stories about fairies, or dragons, ghosts and ghouls. Dean had always thought those things were just pretend, but the way Castiel talks about them makes Dean’s skin break out in gooseflesh at how real they seem.

Sometimes they climb out of the tree, and those times Dean often ends up teaching Cas things. He teaches him how to make a slingshot with a twig and some rubber bands. Once, he brings bubblegum and teaches Cas how to blow a bubble properly. With all the things Cas knows, Dean’s surprised to find he didn’t know how to do that.

When Dean has to go back to school in the fall, it becomes more difficult to visit Cas. After school he usually has homework to do before supper. After supper his mom doesn’t let him play longer than thirty minutes outside, and the journey to and from the Magic Tree takes him almost that long. He only has a few minutes to speak with Castiel on weekdays.

One day he asks Cas if he can meet him halfway, but Cas seems nervous to leave the tree without Dean with him.

“Maybe we could meet at the crick?” Dean asks hopefully. He misses the days he and Cas spent lazing in the tree, slurping on fruit and chatting. But he’ll gladly trade time in the tree for more time with Cas.

“I don’t know…”

“Please, Cas? I miss you.” Dean tries to make the sad-puppy face Sammy makes when he wants something Dean doesn’t want to give him. He sees Castiel falter slightly.

“I miss you too, Dean.”

“So meet me at the crick tomorrow!”

“I guess if I’m only away from my tree a little while, it’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dean says, adjusting himself slightly on the branch. Now that he’s finally gotten used to moving around the tree without feeling like he’ll flop face-first to the ground, the weather’s gotten colder. Mom makes him wear a big puffy coat — which labors his movements — along with a stupid scarf that’s always getting caught on the branches.

The night comes quickly now, too, and Dean knows it’s getting too dark for him to be so far out into the trees.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay. Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great! Hey Cas,” Dean says, then stares directly at Cas with enough intensity to be their secret look.

Cas stares back, and after ten seconds Dean breaks away and chuckles. Cas smiles, too.

Dean can’t wait to spend more time with him tomorrow.

+++++

Castiel shivers. He doesn’t get cold like Dean does as long as he’s in his tree. Now that he’s waiting next to the partially frozen crick, however, the cold seeps into his bones.

He looks over his shoulders, uncomfortable with how vulnerable he is out here in the open. His mother had always been strict about the rules, and now he’s deliberately breaking them.

She hasn’t been around as much lately, though, and Castiel decided it was worth the risk to play with Dean a little longer today.

He’s certain Dean should have been here by now. Dean’s always on time, and he never fails to come. Castiel worries that something’s happened. That Dean’s mother has forbidden him to leave the house, or even worse, he’s become bored with Castiel. He hopes that never happens, because he’s certain he’ll never become bored with Dean.

Stuffing his arms beneath his armpits to warm them up, Castiel decides he’ll wait five more minutes before he goes back. Just then, though, he smells something awful, something dreadful and familiar.

Smoke. The smell of something burning.

He looks to the sky and even in the dim light of dusk, he sees a pall of black smoke billowing into the air. Beneath it, the unmistakable orange glow of flames lick the sky.

It’s coming from the direction of Dean’s house.

“Dean!” Castiel runs splashing through the crick, the icy water numbing his bare feet.

“No, Castiel.”

He turns, and there she is. His mother.

“Mom, my friend! It’s Dean; he’s in trouble!”

“We have to go, Castiel. There’s someone here.”

“But Mom!”

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but no.”

And then he’s in her arms, and there’s nothing he can do. His mother is a force of nature, quite literally, and when she decides it’s time to go, Castiel has no choice.

In her arms, he cries, and he hopes he hasn’t seen the last of his dear friend.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on, Mr. Whartiman,” Cas says, holding out a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Just a few more bites to go with your medicine.”

“The food here tastes like crap!” the cantankerous old man grumps.

“I won’t tell Meg you said that,” Cas says.

“Eh, if Little Miss Thing decides to spit in my food, it’s not like it’d taste any worse.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to eat it!”

“I eat here almost everyday, Mr. Whartiman. The mashed potatoes are the best part. Just a few more bites to go with your medicine, and maybe… maybe I’ll bring you a treat tomorrow.”

The old man’s face lights up. “You know I like Mounds.”

“I do. And just maybe on my way home, if I’m in a good mood because my patients cooperated so well, I might stop by the convenience store to pick up a snack or two.”

“Oh, alright. But just two bites.”

“Deal,” Cas says. He lifts the spoon to Mr. Whartiman’s mouth, the man’s own hands too shaky to hold a spoon for long these days. 

As Cas is going in for a second spoonful, a soft knocking on the doorframe interrupts. It’s Ava, and she has a worried look about her. For a moment, Cas’s heart drops. Working around the elderly, you get used to bad news, but Cas has never quite mastered the art of feeling unaffected when they lose someone.

“There’s someone here that wants to talk to you. He says he’s from the FBI.”

“Oh,” Cas says. That’s not what he expected, and he’s not sure whether to be relieved or not.

“Yeah. I can take care of Mr. Whartiman, if you want,” she says, looking down the hallway and jiggling her leg.

“Sure. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Whartiman.”

“I only had one bite left. Tell her about the one bite!” 

“Okay, right. He only had to take one more bite of his meal.”

“Got it. He’s in the cafeteria. The FBI guy, I mean.”

“Alright, thank you Ava.”

Cas heads to the cafeteria, his mind spinning over what this could be about. When he gets there, he spots the agent immediately. Not many people around here wear a suit unless it’s Bingo Night. And even then, the tie would be a little much.

“Cas Tate,” he says, holding out his hand. The man turns and shakes it firmly, but he stills for a moment that makes Cas uncomfortable, gripping too tightly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Cas…” he stammers. “Tate? Cas Tate?”

Cas tenses and jerks his hand from the man’s grasp. “That’s what I said. Ava said you wanted to speak with me, Mr…?”

“Oh! Uh, Plant. Agent Plant.” The man, Agent Plant, seems to shake himself out of whatever has him stunned and gestures to one of the empty tables. “Let’s have a seat.”

“Alright…” Cas says, feeling more uncertain by the second. Not that Cas has much experience with FBI agents, but something seems off about this guy.

“So, uh, Cas. Is that short for anything?”

“Is this about something that’s happened here at the home or is it about me personally?”

“Uh, sorry.” Agent Plant wipes his hands on his slacks. “It’s about the nursing home. But… I, uh. I need to have your official name for… documents.”

“Okay. Cas Tate is my official name. It’s not short for anything.”

“Really?”

Cas can’t be certain, but he thinks the agent looks almost disappointed about that. And to make things weirder, the man is now staring intently into his eyes, as if trying to make Cas understand something without communicating through words. Which is completely bizarre behavior for a man he’s just met, but he finds he can’t look away. Something instinctual makes him hold the stare.

“Y’know, eye-fucking strangers in the workplace isn’t exactly professional, Clarence.”

He jumps at the familiar voice, as does the agent, to find Meg standing there next to the table.

“Uh, Meg. This is Agent Plant. He’s here to ask questions about… well, I’m not sure.”

“Right, I was getting to that,” Agent Plant stammers. “I was about to ask _Cas_ some questions Ms…” he waits, but Meg doesn’t provide him with a last name. “Ms. Meg. So if you could take a hike, that’d be great.”

“Fine, but be careful. Lots of the old people around here have weak tickers and traditional values. Seeing the love that dare not speak its name so blatantly developing between you two might be too much for them.”

“Meg!” Cas snaps, and she puts her hands up and saunters away. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

The agent lets out a deep sigh and keeps his eyes trained on the table between them as he talks. “Look, I just wanted to know if you’ve noticed anything weird around here lately.”

“Weird, like how?” Cas asks. He knows it’s silly and illogical, but part of him wishes the man would look at him again.

“Like, have you heard any strange sounds in the walls, or anything?” The guy speaks shortly and squirms in his chair, clearly ready for this interview to be over.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Have any of the residents here been acting unusual?”

“Um, not more than normal, I suppose. Many of our patients have some form of dementia or another, and that tends to get worse over time.”

“Right, okay.” The man stands suddenly, then pulls a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and writes on it. “Here’s my number. Call me if you notice anything strange happening around here. Anything at all.”

“I will.” 

Agent Plant walks away abruptly. 

“Well, that was fuckin’ weird.”

Cas jumps again, finding Meg right behind him. “Yes, it was.”

“That FBI agent definitely wanted to jump your bones.”

“I’m not sure that’s what his problem was.”

“Clarence, this is why you never get laid. You can’t see when people are obviously into you.”

Cas looks down the hall where the agent vanished. He doesn’t feel like Agent Plant necessarily wanted to have sex with him, but he is certain the man wanted something from him that he wasn’t able to understand. 

Though five minutes ago he’d have been glad to see the agent leave, now he inexplicably feels a strange sense of loss.

+++++

Cas is so thrown off by the interaction with Agent Plant that he nearly forgets to stop by the convenience store on the way home from work to pick up a Mounds for Mr. Whartiman. He has to make a U-Turn in the middle of an empty street. It’s not entirely legal, but since Cas had the late shift tonight, barely anyone’s around to notice. The only other vehicle on the road is a pair of headlights behind him.

A pair of headlights that make the same U-Turn he does.

By the time this vehicle follows him all the way to the store, Cas is completely fed up with strange things happening to him today. He knows he probably should be frightened, but he’s angry. So angry that he whips into a parking spot and stomps up to the car that parks a few spots away.

When the man driving gets out, a frustrated laugh makes its way out of Cas. 

“You! I should have known.”

Agent Plant puts his hands up in an innocent gesture. “Hey, man—“

“No, don’t ‘hey man’ me.” Cas finds that he’s gotten up into the man’s personal space without consciously doing so. It’s at this moment he realizes Agent Plant is, in fact, a large man. He’s slightly taller and broader than Cas, he drives a muscle car, and he’s now wearing a leather jacket rather than a suit.

Despite evidence that this man is bad news, despite the fact that Cas has no weapons of defense or experience fighting, he still can’t find it in himself to back down. The surge of adrenaline pumping through him gives him a sense of power, and he puffs out his chest.

“You come to my workplace, conduct an interview that makes no sense and don’t even explain why you’re there, then you follow me home like a stalker?”

Cas realizes he’s poking the large man in the chest. He probably should stop doing that, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t care if you’re a Federal Agent, I’m really close to calling the police if you don’t give me some kind of explanation.”

“Okay, okay.” The guy still has his hands up, hunching in on himself so as to appear less threatening. Cas finally takes a step back.

“Look, my name’s Dean,” the guy says. He searches Cas’s face with a look of devastating sincerity. If only Cas knew what he was searching for. Still, Cas feels his defenses growing softer.

“Alright. So your name’s Dean Plant. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“I just…” Dean deflates, the hopeful look on his face gone. “I guess you just seemed familiar. Like maybe we knew each other as kids?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says, and the guy looks so sullen that Cas wishes it weren’t true. “My graduating class had eighteen people in it, all of whom I knew my whole life. I could tell you their middle names.”

“Well, maybe we know each other from somewhere else. Not school, I mean.”

“I didn’t get out much. Though we did go to the state fair every year. Perhaps we met there?”

“Yeah that must be it,” Dean says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

“Is that why you’re following me? You think we knew each other?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been following you. The truth is, I thought you might have something to do with the case I’m on.”

The orange streetlight emits an eerie glow over them in the gravel parking lot. For the first time, Cas realizes Dean is quite handsome. He’s not sure why it took him so long to notice; it’s an obvious and objective sort of beauty, one that anyone despite orientation or preference would be able to see.

“What case?” he asks, reminding himself to stay on track. Just because Dean’s beautiful doesn’t mean he’s not a creep, and something about him still doesn’t add up. “You never told me why you were investigating the home, or investigating me, if that’s what you’re doing.”

“It’s complicated.”

Cas glowers at him, unimpressed. “Uncomplicate it for me, if you don’t mind.”

“Bottom line, I think there is something dangerous in your nursing home.”

“What do you mean? Dangerous like how?” 

Dean fidgets, gives Cas a sidelong glance. “Dangerous as in killing people.”

Cas gapes, taken aback by such a declaration. “There haven’t been any murders in the nursing home!”

“No, but people have died, right?”

“Of course they have! It’s a nursing home! Wait, you said you think I have something to do with it? That I’m _killing my own patients_?”

“No! God, Cas. Calm down.” Dean puts his arm on Cas’s shoulder, an attempt to placate him. “I don’t think you’re killing anyone. But I think something in your nursing home either is, or is about to be. I’ve been tracking this thing for a few weeks, and I’m pretty sure it landed in Edlund Care Center. Maybe it’s struck, maybe it hasn’t. But I’m here to find it, and I’m here to kill it.”

“You talk like it’s not human.”

Dean looks at him for a long moment, and Cas wishes the guy were ugly, that the orange glow diminished his attractiveness rather than accentuating it. He needs to keep his guard up, but he feels himself drawn to Dean in spite of everything. 

He can almost feel what Dean’s going to say next.

“Cas, what if I told you that there are things… there are creatures, who are out there in the dark? Things you’ve been told were make-believe your whole life. What if I told you they were real?”

And the thing is, Cas isn’t even shocked. He feels like he should be, like he should think Dean’s crazy, or at least be horrified if he chooses to believe Dean. But he doesn’t feel any of those things. In fact, he feels a dizzying sense of deja vu, like this moment with Dean, this moment of world-shattering revelations, has been there his entire life, underneath everything and waiting for the perfect time to reveal itself.

It’s there and then gone, and leaves Cas suddenly exhausted in its wake. He sighs deeply and slumps against Dean’s car. 

“That’s… not the reaction I was expecting,” Dean says.

“I’m sorry, I suddenly have a headache. So what does this have to do with me, then?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, leaning next to Cas. “Maybe nothing. I think the feeling that…that I’ve met you. That I know you. I think it threw me off, made me feel like it’s somehow connected.”

“You don’t think that anymore?”

“I don’t know what I think. All I know is that I need to find that thing and kill it before it kills anyone.”

“Okay, and I’ll help you.”

“What? Dude, I understand wanting to ice the damn thing, but this is a job I’ve been doing a long time. It takes training before you just jump in for the kill. That’s how you wind up dead.”

“Isn’t there something I can do to help track it down? Or to stop it?”

“Yeah, okay. Mirrors.”

“Mirrors?”

“Yeah, make sure you check everyone you know’s reflection in the mirror. If you see a fugly bastard instead of a person, let me know and I’ll gank it.”

“Okay, check everyone’s reflection. Anything else?”

“Uh, could you point me to a motel? I just got into town, and I don’t have a place to stay. This place is pretty dinky, but usually there’s at least a roach motel to crash at?”

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

“There’s a week long speech tournament going on at the high school, and the Edlund Motel is booked. A woman I work with has family coming from out of town, and she was complaining about it today.”

“Ah, well. It won’t be the first time I’ve lived out of old Baby here,” Dean pats the hood of the ridiculously big black car they’re leaning against. “She’s not bad shelter.”

“Shit,” Cas whispers.

“What?”

“I’m about to do something incredibly stupid.” Dean just lifts an eyebrow at him in question. “Dean, if you promise you’re not going to smother me in my sleep, you may stay in my spare bedroom.”

“Ah, Cas. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me change my mind.” He starts walking towards his own car. “Follow me.”

“That’s what I was gonna do in the first place,” Dean mumbles.

“Don’t push it, Dean. I’m still not one hundred percent certain you’re not some pervert.”

“I promise to be as un-perverted as possible while under your roof.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean, within reason. What’s life without a little perversion, right Cas?”

“Stop talking, Dean.”

+++++

He knows it shouldn’t, but opening the door to allow Dean into his home gives Cas a thrill that surprises him, and that he hasn’t felt in awhile. It could be dangerous, yes, and it’s definitely dumb, but he can’t deny his attraction to Dean. Nothing will come of it, of course, but the implication of a handsome man coming over in the night is enough to send his pulse thumping.

He tells his pulse to thump off.

“So, this is the bathroom. Your room is right there across the hall. The kitchen’s to the right, living room to the left. My room’s straight down the hall. Feel free to eat what you want, and to watch television, but please use the headphones on the end table. I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. It’s been a… well. It’s been some kind of day.”

“I get it, man. Sorry to spring all this crap on you.”

“Don’t be,” Cas says gently. “I’m glad I met you, despite everything.”

Dean chokes a little and nods, redness coloring his ears and cheeks. Cas thinks distantly he may be the one that should be embarrassed, but he’s too tired to care. 

Under the warm spray of the shower, Cas can’t help but to touch himself a bit. He doesn’t get himself off, doesn’t have the energy — emotionally or physically — to deal with that. But he does let his hand wander more than he usually allows, and it’s the best shower he’s taken in awhile. 

When he gets out and dresses in his nightclothes, he finds Dean in the kitchen rummaging through the refrigerator. 

“Is there anything actually edible in there?” he asks, and Dean only startles slightly at his voice.

“Eh, not much. But I did see some Pizza Rolls in the freezer, so I might have to go for that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a big chef, but I always have Pizza Rolls on hand.”

Dean chuckles and digs them out of the freezer. “You got a plate somewhere?”

“Yes, but don’t you need a baking sheet first?”

“I was just gonna pop them in the microwave.” 

Cas stares at him, scandalized. “Microwave all the Hot Pockets you want, Dean, but remember it’s a sin to nuke a Pizza Roll.” 

“Dude, did you just Atticus Finch me right now?”

Cas grins. “I didn’t watch much television growing up, but my grandmother read to me every night. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ was a favorite of both of ours.”

“That’s awesome, Cas.” Dean looks like he wants to say something else, but Cas decides to break the moment by bending over to pull out a baking sheet from under the oven. He’s said enough.

They get the rolls cooking and settle against the counter. Cas really should be in bed by now, but he’s having a hard time prying himself away from Dean. 

Dean points to a picture on the fridge. It’s of Cas with his arm around a white-haired woman. “Is that your grandma?”

“Yes, that’s her. Well, I called her that.”

“She’s not really?”

“Not technically. Not by blood. But she took care of me my whole life.”

“Really?” Dean asks. Cas can tell he wants to know more, wants to ask what happened to his parents, but Cas doesn’t want to get into it tonight.

“Yes,” he says. “She’s the reason I work at Edlund Care Center. I was going to be a doctor.”

Dean whistles. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

“Yes, but Grandma Tate got Alzheimer’s. I was trying to care for her and go to school at the same time, but I couldn’t do both. So I had to send her to the home. I still wanted to take care of her though, so I became a geriatric nurse instead. She passed away last April.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dean says, and he sounds sincere.

“Thank you. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was still difficult. She was like a mother to me.”

“Yeah I can see that. Changing your career path for her and everything? That’s… pretty damn noble of you.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t do it to be noble.”

They’re silent for a few moments, both looking at the photograph. It was Cas’s 18th birthday, and his traditional birthday pie is sitting in front of him, adorned with eighteen candles. He’s wearing a ridiculous Looney Tunes birthday hat. His grandmother loved to read, but she also loved her some ‘toons. He tells Dean this and the other man chuckles.

“She seems like a pretty awesome lady to me, then. Hey, what kind of pie is that, Cas? I gotta say, I’m totally a pie man.”

“It’s mulberry. Grandma Tate always made me a mulberry pie for my birthday.”

Dean swallows hard and nods.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Cas, but I’m beat. Think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cast — Cas.”

Dean leaves Cas standing alone in the kitchen with Pizza Rolls in the oven. He can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean lies in Cas’s pristine guest bedroom, the memory foam too soothing, the pillows too fluffy, for him to actually fall asleep. He’s too used to the piss-stained, starched sheets of fleabag motels to find comfort in this Better Homes and Gardens nightmare of a room. 

It’s probably not the room keeping him awake, if he’s honest with himself, which he often tries to avoid. But tonight, the honesty just seems to be barreling out of him every which way. He’s never been as honest with a stranger as he was with Cas tonight. 

The worst part is that he knows exactly why. It’s because Cas isn’t a stranger. He’s certain of it, has been certain of it since the moment he laid eyes on the man dressed in scrubs the color of mulberries. The man with sincere blue eyes that stared back at Dean with the gravity of the little boy who lived in a magic tree.

The man who eats mulberry pie for his birthday every year, apparently.

Dean snorts. He doesn’t understand any of it. He doesn’t understand why Cas doesn’t remember him, why he doesn’t even seem to remember his full name.

 _Castiel_ Dean wants to say to him. _You’re name is Castiel._

Castiel was never actually something Dean was able to completely understand in his adulthood. Sometimes he thought he’d even made him up, an imaginary friend his little mind had subsequently created after the traumatic death of his mother and upheaval of his entire way of living. 

He knew, or at least he’d thought he knew, that Castiel was something magical. His experience with Cas was the ray of hope he kept in his mind that maybe not all magical creatures are evil, even as his father made their lives into a crusade against the supernatural.

But now, meeting Cas again, he doesn’t know what to think. Back when he used to fantasize about meeting his childhood friend again, he’d imagined it would be in a castle in the sky, or on a cloud, or on a mountain on Mars. Not in some rural, hick town with one motel, stuck working as a geriatric nurse because of his late grandmother.

None if it makes sense, and all the nonsensical pieces of the puzzle dance around in his brain, effectively fighting off any sleep that may have graced him for the night. He wonders if Cas has any whiskey stored in a bottom drawer somewhere. Probably not. Cas doesn’t seem like the type to keep hidden stashes of booze.

Not that Dean actually knows anything about the man. Maybe he’s dead wrong about everything. Maybe he’s never met the guy; Cas was never the little boy in the tree, if such a boy even existed at all.

Tired of his mind running in circles, Dean finally decides to call Sam. It’s late, and he’ll probably be pissed, but Dean can’t find it in him to care.

“‘Lo?” comes the groggy voice at the other end of the speaker. 

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean, someone better be dead or at death’s door for you to be calling me at four o’clock in the morning.”

“Nah,” Dean chuckles, self-conscious. “Sorry, I uh, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Dean,” Sam whines. “I have class in four hours.”

“I can let you go. Sorry I called, Sammy.”

“No, no,” Sam says, and Dean knows it’s selfish but he’s relieved. It’s been too long since he’s talked to his little brother, and Sam is just the steadying presence he needs to get his head straight right now. “I’m already up. What’s going on? Are you drunk?”

“No, Sam!”

“Don’t act all offended. The only time you call me in the middle of the night is if you’re drunk and feeling maudlin, or if some hunter we knew bit it.” 

“Yeah, it’s neither of those things,” Dean says. And since apparently tonight is the night of honesty, he asks, “Can I tell you something I never told anyone, Sam?”

“Of course,” Sam says, and he’s wide awake now. Dean can practically hear his eager nerd transformation over the phone.

So he tells Sam about Castiel, and then about Cas. About this whirlwind of a night and the confusion that’s come with it.

“Let me get this straight,” Sam says. “You met a little boy who lived in a tree that grew out of the sky, and you never told me about it?”

“I promised Cas I wouldn’t. Besides, there were more important things to worry about after…”

“Yeah,” Sam says softy. “Well, I don’t know, Dean. That’s pretty nuts.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Have you tried doing any tests on him?”

“What, like holy water and silver? Sam, he’s not a damn demon or a shifter.”

“Sounds to me like he’s _something_ , though.”

“He’s not evil, Sam.”

“How do you know? Dean, you don’t know anything about this guy. He could be something we’ve never even been up against before. I’ve never heard of any lore that matches up. Unless maybe he’s some kind of dryad or wood nymph or something. I don’t know why he’d be living in town now, though, if that were the case.” 

“Not much about him matches up. But I’m not _up against_ him. I’m staying at his house, for God’s sake.”

“You’re sure he’s not the thing you’re after?”

“Positive.”

Sam huffs.

“What?” Dean asks.

“It’s just, this magic tree fairy must have made a big impact on you. You’re never like this. You’re more cautious and untrusting than I ever was. Hell, even more than Dad sometimes. And now you’re just suddenly sure this guy’s totally kosher without even doing any tests on the dude.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he goes with a petulant, “He’s not a tree fairy.”

Sam keeps mum, and Dean knows what the little shit is thinking.

“Sam, I swear to God if you make a gay joke.”

“I didn’t!” Sam yelps, without even trying to hide the mirth in his voice.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, you did set me up perfectly.” They’re both silent a moment, and then Sam says, “But it’s not…”

“Not what?”

“I mean, is that why you’re so easy on Cas? Is he one of your… guy… crush things?”

“Oh my god, Sam.”

“It’s a legitimate question!”

“You catch me blowing one guy when I’m like, nineteen, and now suddenly I’m too light in the loafers to even do my damn job right? You think gayness is just clouding up all my judgement?”

“It’s doesn’t have anything to do with being gay—”

“It was one guy, Sam! One time! And he looked like a young Harrison Ford so I figured he got a free pass.”

“It’s not that he’s a guy, Dean. It’s just that I thought feelings might be involved, somehow. That’s _all_!”

“I don’t have feelings for guys!”

“Not even Harrison Ford doppelgängers—“

“Goodbye, Sam!”

Dean hangs up to the sounds of Sam’s protests. He doesn’t need Sam to give him a Human Sexuality class. He’s been well aware of his bisexuality since he was a preteen; he just doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s not even so much that he’s ashamed— well, not anymore, at least— it’s just that he doesn’t need Sam using it against him in moments like these.

Like he’s just so hung up on Cas that he’s blinded.

Which, okay, Cas _did_ throw him off. But it’s just because of the fucked-up circumstances, not because he’s some teenage girl drawing hearts in his notebook.

He decides tomorrow, he’s definitely doing some tests on Cas. 

That way he can be sure, and more importantly, he can tell Sam _I told you so_.

+++++

It’s around the time the birds start chattering Dean finally feels himself drifting off to sleep.

Not long later, he hears a soft knock at his door, followed by Cas’s voice whispering “Dean?”

With a defeated sigh, Dean sits upright. “Yeah, Cas. I’m up. Come in.”

“Good morning,” Cas says, “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby. You’ve got some high quality bedding.”

Cas nods. “I’m glad to hear. Well, I’m making coffee now, if you want some. And I’ll be leaving for work in about forty-five minutes. I thought maybe you wanted to come with me? For your…investigation?”

“Yeah, sounds great, Cas.”

In the kitchen, Cas pours them two mugs of black coffee, and when his back is turned, Dean slips a touch of Holy Water into Cas’s. The guy drinks it without even a flinch.

Just to make absolute certain, Dean mutters _Christo_ into a fake sneeze, and Cas just says “Bless you.”

So he’s not a demon.

_Told ya, Sam._

The shapeshifter test is clunkier and more humiliating. Dean has to pull Cas away from ironing his scrubs to check out his “collector’s” knife.

“It’s very nice, Dean,” Cas says, clearly perplexed and slightly annoyed to have his morning routine interrupted.

“Hold it, the weight feels great in your hand.” Yeah, Dean feels like the world’s biggest jackass.

It works, though. Cas takes the silver-plated handle into his palm, and his skin doesn’t crackle or burst into flames.

_Told ya, Sam! Told ya, told ya, told ya!_

“It’s a good knife, Dean.” Cas still looks skeptical as hell as he slides the weapon back to Dean.

Awkward and unsure of where to go from there, Dean just says, “Okay, see ya,” and leaves Cas’s bedroom.

What a moron. He swears he used to be smoother than this. Cas kills all of his social grace. 

Maybe someday he’ll get used to him.

That is, if he ever sees Cas again after this case.

He finds himself hoping that he will. Sam’s voice snickers in his head.

+++++

At the nursing home, Dean follows Cas around for awhile, but eventually he realizes he’s more concerned with watching Cas work than actually doing his job. 

He tells Cas he’s going to look around on his own, and he tells himself it’s just because he’s confused by Cas that he’s fascinated by him, not for any other reason.

Sure, Cas is a good-looking guy. He seems nice, and smart. He looks after his family, which Dean respects the hell out of. 

So, fine. Maybe if they were two normal guys who lived normal lives and met each other under normal circumstances, he might ask him out. They maybe would have a chance to have some good times together, maybe even things would get serious.

But Dean’s not a normal guy with a normal life, and he doesn’t even know what the hell Cas’s deal is. So there’s no use in entertaining childish thoughts about romancing Cas. At the most, maybe Dean can hook up with him the night before he leaves town. That’s the extent of his relationship capacity.

He curses himself when Cas tells him his shift is over, and he realizes he’s spent more time brooding over Cas than actually looking for clues for his fucking case. Not that he’ll ever tell Sam that.

Since Cas had the early shift, it’s light when they get back to his house. Cas orders them a pizza and they share a few beers on the couch. It’s unsettling how natural it all feels.

“So, did you get any further in hunting the…creature?”

“No,” Dean says, stuffing pizza into his mouth in embarrassment. “Just having an off day. You didn’t see anything did you?”

“No. If I’m honest, between trying to do my rounds and getting distracted by you, I nearly forgot I was supposed to be looking for a malevolent supernatural monster.”

Cas doesn’t blush or stammer or anything while he says this, so Dean tries to hold his head a little higher. There’s nothing weird about taking an interest in a strange, new presence in your life. 

“So, tell me something about yourself, Dean. I feel like it’s always me talking about my life.”

Dean shrugs, his shirt catching against the fabric of the couch. “Not much to tell, really.”

“You hunt monsters, Dean. I think you’re officially not allowed to play the Regular Joe card, here.”

“Okay,” Dean says, and though a distant part of his mind tells him to remember his training and shut the hell up, the beer and the pizza (and maybe just Cas) loosen his lips. “My name’s not Plant.”

“Do you even work for FBI?”

Dean snorts. 

Cas drags a hand through his own hair, flabbergasted and yet still smiling. 

“So you lied to me.”

“I’m being more truthful than I’ve ever really been here, pal. So consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you…” Cas starts, but then darts his eyes around the room conspiratorially. “Do you work for some kind of secret agency?”

“No.”

“CIA?” 

“No, Cas. You’re thinking way too hard. I just drive around the country finding cases and kicking monster ass. I don’t work for anyone.”

“How do you afford to live?”

“I don’t, really. I mean, I hustle pool here and there. And, uh… well I’m pretty well-versed in the art of credit card fraud.”

“Dean!” Dean puts his hands up, chuckling. And even though Cas is acting all shocked, Dean can tell his secrets have animated him in a way Dean hasn’t seen since they were children.

It’s exciting for Dean, too. To tell someone this stuff, someone who actually believes him. The only time he’s been this honest with someone before (and he wasn’t even quite _this_ straightforward), she completely freaked out and dumped him.

Cas, on the other hand, looks at him with wild, excited eyes. Like he’s being reawakened.

 _He is_. Dean thinks. Maybe he’s starting to remember. Hell, Cas had taught Dean about so many supernatural creatures before he’d even realized they were real. 

Maybe he’s coming back to himself, without even being consciously aware of it. 

“So how did you get into this kind of life, anyway?” he asks.

And with that, Dean’s mirth sours. 

Cas picks up on it right away, starts backtracking. “It’s really not my business,” he says. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Dean sighs. He should have been expecting the question. “Look, I said I’d be honest, and I will. My mom… she, uh.”

“I understand, Dean. You don’t have to say.”

But Dean’s started, and he finds he doesn’t want to stop. He’s never really talked about that night to anyone. It was an understood rule among their family. They only talked about how to avenge Mary, not the emotional baggage that came with her death.

“One night, this, uh... demon... came into our house.” Cas’s eyes widen at the word _demon_ , but he doesn’t interrupt. “Well, there were two, we think. I… I was only six, and I can remember bits and pieces, but it all happened so fast. 

“These demons — I didn’t realize they were demons at the time; they just looked like people — they showed up and they started fighting. Like, black smoke, flashes of bright light. The whole damn house caught on fire. It was terrifying. Somehow, Mom got into the middle of their fight. She was trying to protect me, I think. Anyway, she didn’t…”

He trails off, has to catch his breath and swallow passed the lump in his throat. Cas just lets him collect himself.

“Afterwards, my old man become obsessed with finding the things and killing them. We’d do other hunts along the way, you know, trying to save some people, at least. That was how Sam and I grew up. Sam’s my brother, and he left us and went off to college when he turned eighteen. Had a big blow-out fight with my dad and just stormed off to Stanford.

“Then a few years later, my dad went missing, I went and talked Sam into helping me find him. We hunted for a while, together, taking cases while trying to find Dad. We were a good team, Sammy and I. Anyway, it turned out Dad had been tracking down one of the demons. Sam and I caught up with him, and had this big, fuck-off battle with the demon. We beat it, but not before it beat my dad.

“So, anyway. That’s about it. Sam went back to Stanford, to his girlfriend, Jessica. And I went back to hunting. Alone, this time.”

Cas is quiet, and for a moment, Dean’s nervous to look at him. Turns out spilling your guts all over someone makes you feel vulnerable as hell. Who knew. 

Finally, Cas releases a huge breath, shakes his head slowly. “That’s… that’s awful, Dean. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“It’s…” Dean mumbles, but that’s all he manages to get out. No one’s ever told him that before, and it has him swallowing around nothing. 

“Did…” Cas starts, then looks at Dean, unsure if he should ask any questions. Dean gives him a slight nod to continue. “Did you ever find the other demon?”

“No,” Dean says. “And I’m not looking for it. The vengeance thing? I’m done with it. I lost both my parents to those demons, and that’s enough.”

“I understand,” Cas says, still looking slightly bewildered, like he’s still trying to process all this. 

And Dean feels… relieved that he’s let it all out. It’s a weight off his chest he didn’t even realize was there until he removed it. But it also leaves him drained, and it doesn’t help that he got approximately two minutes of sleep last night.

“Cas, this has been… well, anyway. Thanks for listening, I guess. I think it’s time for me to hit the sack, though.”

“Alright,” Cas says, but as Dean pulls himself off the couch, Cas grabs his hand. “Thank you for telling me, Dean. Really.”

And for a moment, they just look at each other, reluctant affection blooming in Dean’s chest. It’s almost like they’re sharing their secret look again, without Cas even realizing it. Dean lets his thumb swipe gently across Cas’s wrist, and then drops his hand entirely.

“Night, Cas,” he murmurs as he shuffles to his room clumsily.

He closes the door behind him and collapses against it. 

And damn it, but Dean really hates when Sam is right.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Cas wakes up to the smell of bacon. For a moment, he’s a teenager again, and his grandmother’s getting his breakfast ready before he catches the bus to school.

Then, reality flickers back in, and Cas remembers Dean. Dean, the stranger who’s staying with him while he hunts monsters. Dean, who has a tragic past that he gave Cas a glimpse into last night.

He creeps into the kitchen, hoping things won’t be awkward between them. While he’s grateful that Dean opened up to him yesterday, he hopes that he didn’t wake up to regret his sincerity this morning.

The sound of whistling echoes through the kitchen, and Cas is relieved to see Dean’s cheerful face standing over the stove, flipping a pancake.

“Did you go to the grocery store?”

“Yep! I actually slept last night. Woke up hungry, and no offense, but I’m not eating Pizza Rolls for breakfast, baby.”

Cas feels himself redden, suddenly bashful at Dean’s blatant flirtation, but Dean just shamelessly winks at him.

“I thought you slept well the night before last?”

“Nah, I was lying. But last night I slept like I finished off the last of the whiskey. Smooth sailing.”

“That beer must have been stronger than I realized.”

“Yeah, Cas. Must’ve been that dishwater you call beer that put a spring in my step,” Dean says, and despite the insult against his Michelob Ultra, Cas could get used to this lighthearted side of Dean. 

Only moments later Dean shoves a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs in front of him.

“It’s kind of nice, having a morning person in the house,” Cas says, finding that his usual pre-coffee grumpiness hasn’t even made an appearance while Dean’s been staying with him.

“I’m about as handy as a pocket on a shirt,” Dean boasts playfully as he fills his own plate.

The rest of the morning goes similarly, Dean in a cheerfully teasing mood and Cas warming up to him all the while. He’s beaming by the time he gets to work. And even though he hardly sees Dean while he does his rounds, the few moments they do catch each other’s attention leave him giddy.

Of course, Meg notices this immediately. He eats lunch in the kitchen with her after the patients are finished, and she’s eyeing him like a hawk all the while.

“Well, don’t you look bright as a button today,” she croons, and Cas can tell she’s already on to him. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the six feet of sex you’ve been coming to work with the past two mornings, would it?”

“It’s not like that, Meg,” Cas mumbles, but he can’t even say it without grinning.

“But you want it to be.”

Cas shrugs shyly. He’s not used to being the one whose love life they discuss, seeing as his love life is usually nonexistent.

“Does he?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas sighs, swirling a glob of broccoli and cheese with his spoon. “He’s not from here, and with his job I don’t think we could ever be anything serious…”

“Who cares about serious? You never let yourself have any fun, and Freckles out there? I’d bet my groceries he’s good for a couple nights of fun.”

“That’s not really my style.”

“Well, if you’re not gonna mount that steed, mind if I do?”

Cas glowers at her and she snorts. “That’s what I thought. You’re all wrapped up in him.” 

She takes his tray, and moves across the kitchen to chuck it in with the dirty dishes. Just as she’s turning back to face him, he catches sight of her reflection in one of the gleaming stainless steel frying pans hanging on the wall.

It’s hideous. Not human. Monstrous.

Cas nearly falls off his stool, then scrambles to catch himself on the table.

“Slow down there, Romeo—“

“Meg!” he says, too loud, startling her back. “I… I forgot about something I need to attend to immediately. Excuse me.”

He storms the halls trying to find Dean, but the man’s nowhere to be found. Panicked and unsure of what to do, he finds Ava and takes her into a janitor’s closet.

“Cas! What the hell is going on? Why are we in a broom closet?” An already somewhat anxious person, Ava’s voice is already at a panicked screech. Her eye widen when she says, “Oh my god, does someone have a gun? Is there an intruder on the grounds?”

“No, Ava. Well, sort of. I can’t really explain, but it’s not safe. We have to figure out a way to get our patients out of here and get them to safety.”

“What are you even talking about? Why can’t you explain? This is kind of important, Cas.” Cas has Ava’s shoulders in his grip, and he has to suppress the urge to shake her. Why won’t she just listen.

But then again, this isn’t her fault at all. It’s his.

As Ava stares at him, trembling, Cas curses himself for letting this get so out of hand. If he weren’t so enamored with Dean, he’d have been paying closer attention and actually gotten the scoop on whatever monster it is that he’s hunting. A monster that has found it’s way into his nursing home, putting his patients in danger. He knew these things abstractly, but he didn’t take it seriously enough, didn’t take proactive measure to resolve the situation.

The dark whispers in his mind even say that maybe he didn’t want to solve the case so that Dean would stay in his life longer. And now people he was supposed to be taking care of are in grave danger. 

“Yes, Cas, you always were a fuck-up.”

He drops his hand’s from Ava’s shoulders, jaw agape. “Ava? What are you—”

“Why do you think your parents abandoned you out in that field, hm? They knew all the way back then that you were no good. Then poor, old Mrs. Tate had to take care of you. The stress is probably what killed her.”

In the small space, he backs away from her and toward the door slowly, still trying to process what he’s hearing. That’s when he glimpses Ava’s reflection in a small mirror attached to the door, and her face looks like Meg’s, another hideous creature.

“What is happening?” he cries but Ava’s dreadful demon-face just laughs back at him.

“Oh darling, you should see your scared shitless face. It’s absolutely adorable.”

Cas scrambles from the room, running directly into Dean.

“Cas, what the hell’s going on? Meg said you came running in here like a madman.”

“Meg can’t be trusted.”

“Well, she was right about that,” Dean mumbles.

“Dean, listen to me. They’re everywhere!” he says, frantically grabbing at Dean as the other man tries to steady him.

“What’s everywhere? Cas what’s going on?”

“The monsters! We have to go somewhere else. It’s not safe!” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dean says softly, trying to placate him. “Let’s go for a drive. I’ll tell someone you don’t feel well.”

“No, no. Maybe we should stay here. We’ve got to kill them, Dean. Before they hurt one of the patients!”

“Cas, I thought I was only after one monster, so until I know what the hell you’re talking about, we gotta get out of here and figure out a game plan. When you’re going after a monster, you have to know what you’re up against.”

They take off in Dean’s Impala. Cas feels close to hyperventilating, but Dean’s a soothing presence in the driver’s seat.

When Dean finds a little park on the outskirts of town, he pulls over and stops.

“Okay, so what did you see, Cas?”

“They were monsters. I looked at their reflections, like you said, and I saw their true faces.”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

“Meg and Ava. They weren’t themselves. Something… something possessed them.”

“Well, the good news is that they’re probably not possessed. This thing can take the form of a human.”

“Do I want to know the bad news?”

“Uh… I doubt it, buddy.”

Cas feels sick. “But you thought there was only one, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re out here reassessing instead of back there fighting for the old folks.”

“There was something else.”

“What?”

“The thing… that looked like Ava. It. Well. I’m fairly certain it read my mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It knew things about me, about my childhood…”

“Things like what?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Things like, you’re parents didn’t want you so they left you out in that field? Then you became poor, old Mrs. Tate’s burden, didn’t you, Cas?”

“No,” Cas whispers, tears stinging behind his eyes. _No, don’t let Dean be one of them._

“Face it, Cas. Nobody wants you. No one ever did, and no one ever will.”

Cas doesn’t have to look in the rearview mirror to know what he’ll see. He fumbles for the door handle, and the thing that looks like Dean just laughs and laughs.

The cool air hits him as he stumbles out of the Impala. He stupidly left his trench coat at the nursing home, and now the cool autumn air nips at him through his thin scrubs. 

Surprisingly, Dean doesn’t make a move to follow him, but it feels like it takes him ages to get away. The park starts spinning around him; he has to clutch onto the merry-go-round handle as he careens past just to keep upright. 

The park is on the other side of town from his house, and he shuffles like the demented dead the whole way there. The world around him warps and blurs, and Cas feels his sanity slipping away with every step.

By some miracle, he manages to make it to his house, floundering to get the secret key from his hydrangea plant and actually make it through the door. 

When he collapses on his couch, he uses whatever brain power he has left to try to figure out his options. He can’t call 911, they’ll just think he’s off his rocker. And he’s fairly certain they might be right. Even if he knew how to fight these monsters and didn’t feel like someone has their fingers in his brain twisting it around, he’d still be outnumbered.

Just as he comes to the conclusion that he’s utterly screwed, Dean burst through his front door. Cas lurches to his feet and grabs the nearest weapon he can find: the side table lamp.

“Cas, you need to calm down.”

“You stay the hell away from me, demon!” 

“Cas, I’m not a demon, okay! I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but you need to get control of yourself. You’re gonna hurt yourself or someone else.”

Dean moves toward him, and Cas pitches the lamp at him. He misses, which leaves Cas vulnerable enough for Dean to just dart over and grab him.

“Cas, you gotta listen to me, man. Whatever you think is going on isn’t real.”

Cas struggles to get away from him, thrashing in the demon’s stronghold. He manages to get a hand on the thing’s shoulder to pry himself away, but it’s stronger and holds to him tight.

He feels so desperate, so hopeless and frightened. And with these feelings, something starts to rise up from within him, something bright and powerful and wrathful. It’s hot, burning, and it torches through him.

“Cas,” the thing says, and it looks frightened.

Good. It should be.

Cas uses every remaining ounce of strength he has to push the monster away.

“Get away from me!” he screams, and that does it. The power within him pummels out in a great flash of light. 

There’s screaming, and light. So much light.

And then everything goes dark.

+++++

When he comes to, Cas finds himself sitting upright. Blearily, he looks around, and finds that he’s in his own kitchen. He tries to move, but finds he’s been strapped to his dining room chair. 

Dean sits across from him, in the same predicament. However, the sleeve to his tee shirt seems to have been singed off, and on his shoulder, a bright red imprint of a hand. Cas swallows, his brain too blurry to try to make sense of anything. Unlike Cas, though, Dean’s still out cold.

“Oh good,” a voice says behind him. “You’re up.”

Cas shakes his aching head, but it only makes the throbbing worse. He knows that voice. It’s steadier and deeper than he’s used to hearing, but despite the drunken haze his mind seems to have made of itself, he remembers.

“Mr. Whartiman,” he says, and the wheelchair-ridden old man walks spryly around in front of him, placing himself between Cas and Dean. Cas feels like he should be surprised, but he’s just resigned at this point.

“Hello there, Cas. You missed my dinnertime today, but that’s okay. I think I’ll have my dinner now. I don’t want any of Meg’s mashed potatoes. Or even Mounds. I have a different menu in mind.”

“What’s that?” Cas asks bitterly, figuring he can at least stall until this creature does whatever terrible thing it’s going to do.

“Your brain, of course.”

Cas doesn’t even have the energy to be horrified. The room’s still spinning, and he’s having trouble keeping one thought connected to another. 

“I got it nice and doped up, just like I like ‘em.”

“Wh— What the hell are you talking about.”

“Well, we wraiths enjoy a good crazy brain, and what more perfect place than a nursing home? The people there are dying anyway, so it’s not suspicious when one of ‘em croaks, and most of ‘em are already halfway crazy anyway.”

“So, why me?”

“It’d be nice to have a fresher meal once in awhile, but the real reason is this hunter behind me.”

“You knew Dean was a hunter?”

“I know a hunter when I see one. Kind of a dud, though. Walked by my door I don’t know how many times, but was too busy staring at your ass to figure out it was me he was after. He’s certainly not the brightest hunter I’ve ever crossed.”

Suddenly Dean’s behind him, and Mr. Whartiman’s eyes go wide, a gargling sound escaping his throat. 

“Maybe not,” Dean says. “But I’m the hunter that killed your old, ugly ass.” 

And Cas realizes with sudden clarity that Dean is _stabbing him in the back._

Mr. Whartiman falls to the floor in a heap, and Dean stands above him panting. The murkiness of Cas’s mind seems to clear up immediately with the creature’s death, and he couldn’t be more grateful to Dean in that moment.

“You okay?” he asks Cas.

“Yeah, you?” 

“I’ll live.”

Dean makes quick work of untying Cas’s hands from the chair.

“So, a wraith?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you it was a wraith I was tracking?”

“I don’t think it came up.”

“Shit, Cas. You’ve distracted the hell out of me for this whole hunt. Even the stupid wraith realized it.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be man. You’re…” Dean looks down, and Cas notices red creeping up his neck. “You’re a good distraction.”

No one should look so cute with blood on their hands, but somehow Dean manages.

“And besides, everything turned out okay. So, no harm, no foul. Well. Mostly okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know wraiths could fuck with your head like Old Balls here did to you. Sorry, Cas. I swear I would’ve mentioned it if I did. I’ve never actually hunted one before, and it didn’t say anything about that in my dad’s journal.”

“It’s over now. I’ll live.”

“God, I must seem like such a crappy hunter. I’m gonna have to take you on another hunt sometime and show you my prowess.”

“Dean, I watched you go from being tied to a chair, unconscious, to stabbing a monster in the back in seconds flat. I’m not sure how much more impressed I could be.”

“Well, I did get a little stroke of luck, since you keep silverware that’s actually silver around your kitchen.” Dean twirls the bloody knife on his fingers.

“That was my grandmother’s antique silverware.”

“If I knew you had this, I wouldn’t have had to do that dumb knife test on you like an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know that morning, when I made you hold my collector’s knife? It was silver plated. I needed to make sure you weren’t a wraith. Or shifter. Or any number of things, really.”

Cas chuckles softly. “I thought that was a bit odd. Are you always that awkward around potential monsters?”

“No!” Dean shouts, but the word forms around a smile. “That’s what I’m saying! You’ve distracted me into being a shitty hunter this time around. I swear I’ll make it up to you. You should see me taking out a vampire nest. Bodies everywhere.”

“Speaking of bodies, what are we supposed to do with the one lying in my kitchen?”

Dean looks away, guilty. He rubs his neck for a moment, then gives Cas an impish grin. “You got a shovel?”

“You’re kidding.”

“We’ll salt and burn it, too, just to be sure. But yeah, we better bury it to keep anyone from finding remains.”

“That sounds like a pleasant evening.”

“Perks of the job.”

“You must have had a terrible guidance counselor.” 

“The absolute worse.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sunrise is only a few hours away by the time Dean and Cas make it back from the delightful task of wraith disposal. Dean’s impressed with Cas for taking this all in stride, even if he believes Cas’s knowledge of the supernatural isn’t as new as he thinks it is. 

Cas wins the Rock-Paper-Scissors battle to see who gets to shower first. When he finally finishes, Dean’s chomping at the bit to get in and get the filth scrubbed off of his skin. It’s not until he gets under the hot water that he remembers the mysterious handprint-shaped burn on his left shoulder. The hot water stings it, and Dean tries to maneuvers himself carefully for the rest of the shower to keep it out of the spray for as long as possible.

He’s more convinced than ever that Cas is actually Castiel.

When he comes out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, he jumps to find Cas standing there waiting for him.

“Sorry,” Cas says, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Dean’s half-naked body. Pride blossoms under his chest at the reaction, and maybe he stands a little taller, flexes slightly. “I just wanted to say…” Cas trails off as his eyes wander to Dean’s left shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath. “Did… did I do that?”

“Calm down, Urkel. You were hopped up on wraith ruffies. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“But…” Cas frowns, torn between guilt and confusion. “But how? How could I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says softly. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. But it’s late. You’ve been through a lot. We don’t need to worry about it tonight.”

“I’m just,” Cas looks away, his breath shaking. “I feel like my life’s been turned upside down since you walked into it. Monsters and demons, okay. I can accept that. But… what the hell’s wrong with me, Dean? There’s no way that’s normal. Or acceptable. Something… there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Cas.” Dean grabs him by the shoulders, completely confident his words are the truth and desperate to make Cas see the same.

“What if this means I’m some kind of monster? Could a person be a monster and not even realize it?”

“You’re not a damn monster, Cas!” And Dean’s getting pissed now. Cas is good. Dean has known it since he was six years old. Cas is something special and magical, and Dean will be damned if he lets Cas sit here and beat himself up about it.

“I hurt you, Dean,” Cas whispers. His face is a crumpled mess of a thing.

“It wasn’t your fault, Cas. Okay? None of it. There’s something special about you. I don’t know what it is, but I know you’re not a monster. You’re just gonna have to trust me. Haven’t I earned that?”

“You think I’m special?” Cas asks with an almost childlike hopefulness. 

“God, don’t make it weird.”

“I think you’re special, too, Dean.” Damn this guy and his stupid, sincere affection. 

Dean can hardly stand it, so he takes Cas by the face and kisses him.

It takes Cas a moment to get with the program and kiss back, but when he does, he’s a damn hurricane, pulling Dean against him like a vice and devouring him. Dean gives back with just as much enthusiasm. 

Somewhere between the hallway and Cas’s bedroom, Dean loses the towel. They collapse onto the bed. Dean fumbles with the buttons on Cas’s dorky pajama top for a few moments, but finally Cas bats his hands away and pulls the shirt off over his head.

“That works, too,” Dean breathes, taking in the firm expanse of Cas’s chest. He leans forward to mouth at Cas’s neck, and the trembling moan that escapes Cas is enough to get Dean trembling as well.

Leaving a wet trail in his wake, Dean licks and sucks his way downward. He makes a stop to massage circles around each of Cas’s nipples, but the man beneath him doesn’t respond as wildly as he had when Dean was at his neck. Dean figures he’s not big on nipple play and continues his journey down.

He peppers small, light kisses along Cas’s hipbone, and _that_ gets a better response. Cas moans and undulates softly, likely trying to keep himself in check for Dean’s sake. Figuring it’s about time for the teasing to be over, Dean moves further down into the V of Cas’s hips, sucking small hickeys into the man’s suntanned skin. 

Cas lifts his lower half, and Dean takes the cue to drag his pajama bottoms and underwear off in one fell swoop. Looking at Cas spread out nude on the bed, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving, Dean feels like he won the damn lottery chasing that wraith to Edlund. He bends forward to nip and tease around the base of the man’s cock, moving lower to suck lightly on his balls.

“Dean!” Cas cries out.

“Okay, okay, baby. I got you.” Dean’s done teasing now. He takes in the beauty of Cas’s erect cock, plump and red and starting to leak slightly at the head. He leans forward, hungry for it, but suddenly Cas’s hand is on his shoulder stopping him.

“Wait,” he says. The man’s hair sticks up at wild angles, and _damn_ is he beautiful. His eyes are still glazed over, but they have a bit more focus to them now. “Condom.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He feels like an idiot for not even thinking about it. He was so swept up in the moment that protection was the furthest thing from his mind, an admitted flaw of his when it comes to sex. “Where?”

“Nightstand,” Cas gasps. Dean makes quick work of finding one of the small foil packets and getting Cas covered.

Latex isn’t exactly the sexiest taste in the world, but the sounds Cas makes are enough to make up for that. He bobs his head up and down, taking in Cas’s warm, thick length and the man beneath him slowly comes undone. Just as he brings Cas right up to the edge, the man stops him again.

“Up here.”

“Wha-?” Dean mumbles, lost in his own bliss of giving his partner pleasure.

“Want you,” Cas pants out. “Want you up here with me.”

Dean can’t argue with that. Clumsily, he lumbers forward, straddling Cas’s hips and lining up their erections. He quickly pulls the condom off of Cas and flicks it across the room. Taking them both in his hand, Dean leans forward to capture the other man’s lips in a kiss. Just like before, Cas kisses him back with fervor, pumping his hips to the rhythm Dean quickly sets up for them.

After awhile, they’re not even kissing anymore, just breathing into each other’s open mouths. Dean works his hand and his hips faster and faster, Cas keeping up with him at every thrust. 

Looking into Cas’s open, trusting eyes, Dean gets lost. They’re both familiar and entirely different than he remembered them. More than anything has in a long time, they feel like coming home. With that thought, Dean comes over his fist. Cas follows shortly after.

After they’ve cleaned up and Dean collapses on the bed next to Cas, they still can’t seem to stop staring. It lasts even longer than their secret stare.

“I know you,” Cas murmurs.

Dean freezes. He doesn’t say anything back. He can’t. His throat’s too tight and his heartbeat’s too loud in his ears.

“I know you,” Cas says again, louder this time, more sure of himself. “Dean, you were right. I know you. How… how do I know you?”

“We met in a tree,” Dean manages to whisper. “An upside-down tree. Do you remember that, Cas?”

Cas’s eyes dance back and forth between Dean’s, the familiar line wrinkling his forehead in consternation. 

“No. I don’t. I just remember you, Dean. I remember looking at you.”

“Castiel.”

“What?”

“That’s your name. I called you Cas, but your name was Castiel.” 

“I don’t…” 

Cas buries his face in his hands, shakes his head rapidly.

“Cas, are you okay?” Dean wraps an arm around him, tries to give him some kind of anchor to cling to.

“My name is… Castiel?”

“Well, it took you long enough to remember,” says a dark voice from the other side of the room.

Cas and Dean bolt upright on the bed. From out of the shadows, a middle aged bald man in a suit creeps forward. Immediately, Dean’s mind tries to figure out everything within reach that could inflict damage. Unfortunately, the best option seems to be a side table lamp, which Cas had proven to be a poor substitute for a proper weapon.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, trying to make himself look as intimidating as possible to make up for the lack of an actual weapon.

“Dean, when you’re speaking to me, you should take a more respectful tone,” the weasel spits. “Actually, I think I don’t want you speaking to me at all. 

The man — thing, whatever he is — raises his hand and presses his fingers against his thumb. Dean finds that he can’t open his mouth. When he discovers he can’t move the rest of his body either, he settles for impotently making angry noises behind closed lips. 

“Stop it,” Cas says. “Leave him alone!” 

The thing chuckles arrogantly, then waves his hand. With that, Dean’s body is his own to control again.

“Oh, fine. It’s not like your hairless ape of a friend is much of a threat to me. I just wanted to give you a little taste of what I can do.” This smarmy bastard’s smile makes Dean want to throw punches.

Cas rises from the bed, and Dean follows his lead, climbing over to get off on Cas’s side so he can stay near. Then standing there with his balls and everything swinging in the breeze, a bit of embarrassment finally creeps in, and he cups himself.

“Ah, yes,” the thing says. “‘And the eyes of them both were open, and they knew that they were naked.’” He waves his hand again and suddenly both Dean and Cas are fully clothed. “You humans have always been funny about that. Well, every since you lost your body hair.”

Dean tries to steady his breathing even though he can feel his pulse in his teeth. This guy is way too powerful for his own — or anyone else’s — good. 

“Who are you?” Cas says, and weirdly he sounds more intrigued than worried.

“Oh Castiel, it’s me,” it says with fake sentiment. “Your Uncle Zachariah.”

“My… uncle?” 

“Well, your mother was disowned by the host and thrown in prison for having you, and you’re an abomination that must be destroyed… eventually. But right now I need your help.”

“The host?” Dean asks, and it’s like his mind’s swirling around the idea of what this guy means, but it hasn’t quite dawned on him yet. 

Cas seems to understand. He sucks in air through his teeth.

“No,” he whispers. “The _heavenly_ host?!” 

“You guessed it. Yes, your mother was a seraph, Castiel. And she was beautiful, until she fell in love with the stinking cesspit of humanity and defiled herself with a mud-monkey.” He spits out the last part with such venom that Cas flinches back.

“Okay,” Dean says, and he’s having a hard time getting this angels-are-real thing through his head, but now’s not the time. He’ll have to have his existential crisis later. “I think we kinda glazed over the whole issue of you wanting to murder Cas.”

“It’s no urgent matter, and it’s not important at the moment.”

“It’s pretty damn important to me, shit-stick!”

“Now, Dean,” the smug bastard says. “Have you so quickly forgotten what I’m able to do to you?”

Dean opens his mouth to tell this guy where he can shove it, but Cas speaks first. “What kind of help do you need from me?”

“Cas, you can’t seriously be considering helping this douche!” 

“You know what, Dean. I changed my mind. You need to shut up now.” And once again Dean’s forcefully mute. This Zachariah dirtbag is getting real old, real fast. “Your mother’s escaped from her cell and now we need to find her and kill her. You have a connection to her, and we’re going to use that connection to track her down.”

“You can go to hell,” Cas grounds out, his voice more dangerous than Dean’s ever heard it.

“I’ve been there, actually. It’s a touch too arid for my taste. Though the torture of human filth is a bonus.”

“You… you’re no better than a demon. And you’ll never have my help.”

“Oh really? Well, speaking of demons, Castiel, you happen to know one.” Zachariah makes a forward motion with his hand, the door to the bedroom opens, and Meg comes floating in. Her every muscle is tensed; she’s clearly being held by invisible angelic powers. Still, she has a smartass look on her face. Dean has a begrudging respect for her in that moment, despite the fact he’d kill her in any other situation, if Zachariah’s telling the truth about what she is. “I believe you know Ms. Masters?”

“Meg…”

“Hey, Clarence,” she says, her lip tilted up in a half-smile, though she looks defeated as she says it.

“Yes, your friend Meg here hails from the fiery bowels of Hell. Surprise! And after some… interrogating, we found out quite a bit about her feelings for you. See, she was sent here to find you and harness your powers for the armies of Hell—“

“Yeah, and I found him long before you holy jerk-offs did.”

“Oh my, it seems I’m going to have to muzzle this one, too.” Meg’s mouth shuts so hard Dean can hear her teeth clack. “Goodness, Castiel, you have the mouthiest friends. Anyhow, she was meant to drag you to Hell long ago and start twisting that halfbreed little soul of yours into a deadly Hell-weapon, but you know what happened? She developed a soft spot for you. Can you imagine? A dirty little Hell whore fell in love with an abomination from heaven. Frankly, I don’t see the appeal.”

Meg clearly still has control of her eyes because she uses them to glare holes through Zachariah. Cas looks destroyed.

And suddenly, Dean can’t move again. He can’t move, except he _is_ moving. His body rises up until he’s levitating, and he finds himself floating over until he’s next to Meg.

“Now, Castiel. I have your human friend, here. And your demon friend, here. And if you don’t help me track down your mother, I’ll eviscerate them both. Slowly. In front of you. More than once if that’s what it takes.”

Cas flicks his horrified stare from Dean to Meg, and back again. Dean tries desperately to thrash against the force that’s holding his body, but he can’t budge an inch. He’s completely at the mercy of Zachariah’s angel mojo.

He’s never felt so out of control, so helpless in a battle, as he does now. With nothing he can do to stop what’s happening, he hopes Cas has it in him to get them out of this mess.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas is reeling. Everything he’s ever known about himself is a lie. He’s an angel. Or at least, partially an angel. Some half forgotten Sunday School lesson provides his mind with the word _nephilim_ , but even that’s too big for him at the moment. 

And right now, his friends need him. Well, one friend who turned out to be a demon and one who turned out to be a lover. But he doesn’t know what to do. If he saves them, he betrays his mother, and if he stays loyal to his mother, he has to watch his friends be torn apart. 

Suddenly, all his confusion and shock wears off, and in it’s place remains nothing but rage. He’s irate that this so-called angel has burst into his life and ripped it apart. With this ire, he feels a nascent sensation start building in him. It’s the same feeling he felt when he thought Dean was a demon attacking him. 

Zachariah said he was connected to his mother, and maybe he can use this… _feeling_ , this heavenly wrath or whatever it is to find her. 

Clearly getting impatient with Cas, Zachariah’s self-assured smile wavers, and Cas finds he’s incredibly talented at looking mean.

“It’s up to you, Castiel. But you should make your choice quickly. I don’t like waiting.”

“Just…” Cas starts. He needs to stall for time, like he did with the wraith. It’s his only option as he tries to find wherever his mother is. Even though it’s a shot in the dark, it’s the only shot he’s got. He tries to push that feeling out into the universe, tries to find that cord that supposedly connects them and make it pulse. “Answer some questions first, and I’ll go with you.”

“You aren’t the one making the rules here, boy.”

“No, but you need my cooperation, or you would have just killed Dean and Meg and taken me by now. So you’re going to answer some questions first, _Uncle_.” He puts as much contempt as he can muster into that last word. All the while, the fire in him burns.

“Fine,” Zachariah spits out.

“Okay, Meg said she found me long before you did. Why did it take you guys so long to find me?”

Zachariah huffs angrily. “You mother carved a sigil into your ribs that hid you from all angels. She erased your memory and cloaked your abilities to the point that even you couldn’t use them or know about them. Happy? Now let’s go, shall we? So, I can let your friends go and we can get started?”

“No, I’m not done.” Cas keeps pushing on the power inside him, and he actually feels it pulse back. He hopes to God or to whomever the hell’s in charge that it’s his mother and she feels him, rather than this all being in his head. “So, how did you find me now?”

“Dean.”

“What?” Cas looks to Dean, who looks back at him. Zachariah’s clearly controlling him thoroughly though, because his face remains stoic.

“We’ve been looking for you a long time, Castiel. Even before your mother escaped, we needed to destroy you. Nephilim are unnatural abominations and are to be terminated. Your mother moved you all around as a child, and occasionally we’d get close. Sometimes, if we found a person or family we felt you’d gotten close to, we’d mark them with sigils of their own. Sigils that would send us a signal if they got close to you. We knew Dean had seen you as a child. We could see it in his mind, even if your mother had hidden you from us,” Zachariah says, managing to look both bored and impatient at the same time.

“But Dean came to the hospital days ago,” Cas interrupts. “You didn’t find me until now.”

“The sigils we placed on Dean are old. We weren’t as clever as your mother, and we placed them on his skin. They were nearly imperceptible, small enough to be perceived as a freckle. But of course skin sheds, gets worn with age. If the sigils flared up before now, it was dim enough we didn’t notice. Apparently it took a disgusting, human act to get the two of you close enough for the sigil to burning brightly. Now I’m really quite done waiting for you to make up your mind, Castiel.”

 

“No. Wait a minute,” Cas says as a dreadful thought creeps through him. At the moment, he even forgets to push out to his mother. “You’re not… the demon. The demon that killed Dean’s mother?”

“Not me personally, but an angel was there that night. The demons were also looking for you, of course, hot on your trail. And when we went to mark Dean with a tracking sigil, one of those demons showed up at the same time. It ended in a skirmish wherein the demon fled. Yes, Mary Winchester was a casualty.”

Cas feels like he’s going to vomit. He can’t even meet Dean’s eyes, but he knows the man must hate him now. It’s his fault that Dean’s life was wrecked, his fault that his mother died. 

He doesn’t feel like stalling anymore. In some sick way, it seems appropriate, that Cas should sacrifice his mother to save Dean. He wishes he could sacrifice himself instead, but then again, he’ll be dead by Zachariah’s hand when he’s no longer useful to him.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he says. “I had no idea.”

Zachariah smiles, predatory and cold. He sees Cas’s fight deflate.

“I’ll go with you. Just let them go.”

“Alright.” Dean and Meg drop to the floor, slide out the doorway, and the door slams behind them. In a blink Zachariah’s next to Cas. He pats him on the shoulder with a smug grin, and Cas gulps. The realization that he’s signed himself up for certain death sinks its teeth in slowly. “Now, we just to find that vile, human-humping mother of yours.”

“Not if she finds you first,” a feminine voice says.

Cas startles to find a pale woman with hair like a flame suddenly standing in front of them. She’s the most beautiful person Cas has ever seen, and he knows her immediately.

“Anna, you—” Zachariah screeches, but he doesn’t have time to finish before she produces a silver dagger from thin air and plunges it through his heart.

There’s light and sound surrounding them, but clear as day, through all of it he hears his mother’s voice. “Close your eyes, my child,” she says, and he does.

When it’s all over and his ears are left ringing and his eyes dancing with spots, he finds himself wrapped in her arms.

“Mom,” he says.

“Hello, Castiel. I’ve missed you so much. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Of course. But first, I need to check on my friends.”

+++++

When he opens the bedroom door, Meg’s there slumped against the wall.

“Clarence, you’re alive. I can’t believe you actually KO’ed Tall, Bald, and Ugly in there.” Anna steps out from behind Cas, and Meg’s eyes bulge. “Oh, shit.”

“Don’t worry, Meg. My mother won’t hurt you.” Cas says this confidently, but when he looks to Anna and sees the look on her face, he realizes he’s not sure. He knows nothing about her, and it would be normal for angel to smite a demon. “Will you, Mom?”

“You know she’s a demon?”

“I learned somewhat recently,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. Meg looks one second from bailing. “But she’s been kind to me when she was supposed to take advantage, so she’s a damn good friend, in my book.”

“Look at her true face,” Anna says, and she places her hand on Cas’s cheek. With a flash of light, the whole world shifts, and that itch under his skin, that feeling he felt when he found his mom and attacked Dean, it takes over his entire being. It’s less of a rage now, and more of a feeling of power. He can see different lights, different colors that he couldn’t before.

He can see Meg’s face. 

It’s not hideous like it was when he hallucinated her as a wraith, but it isn’t anything near human. It’s twisted and gnarled and demonic, but he still sees beauty there. He always will. 

“She’s my friend, Mother. You won’t hurt her.”

His mother nods, and he can see her true face as well, now. It’s radiant, and magnificent, and just as terrifying as Meg’s. He wonders if his own reflection will look different. 

“Look, what Puke-ariah said in there, about me being in love with you, that’s not true. No offense, Cas, but I can do a lot better than a dorky nephilim.”

Cas gives her a grin. He’s not sure if she’s telling the truth or trying to save her pride, but she’s been through enough because of him. He won’t make it worse by calling her out. 

“Of course, Meg.”

“Listen, I’m gonna split. Dean already high-tailed it out of here. Sorry, Cas. I know you liked him.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad he’s safe, and that you’re safe. Take care of yourself, Meg. I hope this isn’t the last I see of you.”

“Ugh, you’re giving me cavities, Cas. See ya. And thanks for not smiting my ass, uh… Cas’s mom?”

“Anna,” Cas provides, and his mother just nods again.

Meg disappears in a trail of smoke, and Cas is too maxed out at this point to find it fascinating. Though he’s dying to speak with his mother, he wants to see Dean first. He wants to know that he’s okay, but when he looks out his front door, Dean’s car is gone.

“Dean is not injured,” Anna says.

Cas fights the tightness of his throat and tries to put Dean out of his mind. If his mom says Dean made it out of here unharmed, then Cas believes her. At least, he believes that Dean hasn’t suffered any bodily blows. His heart, and his mind, are another matter.

Instead, Cas lets the fact that his mother— his powerful, beautiful, rebellious, angelic mother— is here in his living room hit him with full force. He strides across the space between them to embrace her. She holds him back tightly, and Cas feels a physical warmth start to seep through him.

“Remember,” she says.

And slowly, Cas does.

He remembers his childhood home, a tree whose branches may as well have been extensions of his arms and legs. A tree that provided everything for him; shelter and food and comfort. A tree that protected and hid him from harm-doers even when his mother was away fighting to keep him safe from her family. 

He didn’t quite understand it all at the time, but with his newfound knowledge, all the pieces fall in place. He finally understands why he was left alone so often, just how much his mother sacrificed for him. 

And he remembers Dean. Sure, there were other children and people he occasionally came into contact with, but none of them as bright as Dean. The kind, rambunctious boy who befriended him over mulberries. Dean was the only one to find his tree, the only one to know Cas’s secret hiding place.

He wonders now, if the tree was so well-protected from outsiders, how Dean managed to find it.

“The truth is, I don’t know,” Anna says. And okay, apparently being a full-fledged angel comes with mind-reading powers. Cas is going to have to get used to that. “Though I’ve stopped believing in my father’s plan years ago, a part of me thinks maybe you met Dean for a reason. I knew about him, of course, after the first time you met. I considered leaving then, but I’d never seen you so happy. It was nice, you having a friend.”

“And then I got Dean’s mom killed.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Castiel. It was my fault. I should have left that place as soon as I knew you two had gotten close. It was foolish of me, and I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t think it’s me you should be apologizing to. Or even you who should be apologizing.” 

Cas collapses on the couch. The adrenaline’s starting to fade away and exhaustion takes its place. Anna stiffly sits next to him.

“Shouldn’t I have more energy than this? If I’m some kind of angel hybrid. I mean, do you sleep?”

“No, Castiel. I don’t sleep.” Even as a child, Cas never quite knew the things that made him like an angel, and things that made him like a human. “But you aren’t an angel. And you will tire, like a human.”

“I have so many questions.”

“I’m here to answer what I can.”

“What about my father?”

“He was killed by the angels not long after you were conceived. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for your family’s terrible behavior. Wait a minute, speaking of family, when you mentioned your ‘father’s plan’ earlier, did you mean God?”

“Yes, though there is much doubt to whether he’s even around anymore.”

“Around, as in heaven?”

“Yes.”

“This is… a lot to take in,” Cas sighs.

“I know, and I would offer to let you rest before answering more of your questions, but I’m afraid that’s time we don’t have.”

Cas furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

It’s not exactly easy to read a non-human face. Anna’s is constantly shifting, not necessarily between emotions, but it’s as though his mind can’t completely process what it’s seeing. So it never quite lands on one thing. One moment, her features look almost avian, but then before he can blink, they shift to something more feline, or bovine, or even human. He gets the feeling that even with his nephilim sight, he’s not getting the full picture. Perhaps only other angels can see her true form.

Even still, it’s not as though he can’t garner some insight to her feelings by looking at her face, and Cas is fairly certain it’s sorrow he sees flicker across her features.

“Castiel, you’re a target. Heaven will always be searching for you, just as they’re always searching for me. We’ll never be free.

“I tried to give you a normal life. When I realized they’d catch me sooner or later, I left you in that field near Mrs. Tate’s farm. I knew she’d be coming out to feed the cattle that morning, and that she’d find you. She and Mr. Tate were never able to conceive, and she had wanted a child desperately all her life. You were good for her, Castiel. Your presence brightened her existence, so please don’t ever think she thought of you as a burden.

“They found me not long after. I took your memories and disguised your abilities from you. I thought living as a human would be the best chance you had, since Heaven would always reject you. 

“But now you know everything. If you want to go back to your life, I can erase the memories. I can suppress your abilities again, and I can try my best to keep them away from you. But I can’t make any promises. They could find me. And they know where you live now. It’s really not safe for you here.”

Cas nods. He tries to keep himself together, for he has no other choice. “I don’t want you to erase my memories. I don’t want to forget who I am.”

“You’ll be on the run all the time.”

“It’s better I know that they’re after me than live my life in ignorance. And you have more important things to do than always hover over me, trying to protect me. Like trying to protect yourself.”

“It would put me in more danger. And if I got killed, there would be no one to protect you, and you wouldn’t have the knowledge to protect yourself.”

Cas huffs. “I hardly have the knowledge to protect myself now.”

“I know, and I wish I had more time to teach you. But Dean has knowledge of the supernatural. His lifestyle would be the safest thing for you.”

“Are you saying I should be a hunter? Like Dean? And spend my life running around killing monsters?”

“I’m saying that going with Dean is the safest thing for you. He can teach you more than almost any other human could. And… I know how he makes you feel. I know how your soul glows when you’re around him. Even as a boy, you always glowed so brightly after you spent time with him. Castiel, you should go with him.”

“I’m not sure he’d want me around after all of—“ Cas is interrupted mid sentence by a great rumble that shakes the house. At first he thinks it’s an earthquake, but Anna is up off the couch immediately.

She stands tall and proud in the middle of Cas’s small living room, and curling out from her back like shimmering shadows appear six enormous wings. In that moment, Cas remembers her, remembers what she truly looks like. She’s stuffed in a human vessel right now, he realizes, which is why he was having so much trouble before. 

“They’re here,” she booms, and it’s her true voice, immense and multifaceted. It echoes all around him. “Come with me, Castiel.”

And as easy as breathing, he does.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sails down the highway, windows open. He had the radio blasting, but with everything running through his mind, the clamoring sounds of AC/DC were for once more irritating than soothing. The whipping of the cool, midwestern wind is all his addled mind can handle at the moment.

When Cas told that feathered dick he’d go with him, Dean felt totally lost. So he figured he’d do what he always does when his back’s against the wall: go ask Bobby for help. He’s flying towards South Dakota as fast as these wheels can take him.

One second, Dean’s alone in the driver’s seat contemplating the past twenty-four hours, the next, Castiel and a strange woman pop up in his rearview mirror.

“Fucking Christ!” he screams as the car swerves recklessly. He overcorrects, then has to correct again before he’s actually driving straight. “What the hell!”

“Sorry Dean,” Cas mumbles from the back. “I didn’t know where she was taking me.”

“Who the hell is she?” Dean shrieks.

“I am Anna, Castiel’s mother,” the gorgeous redhead next to Cas says. “Pull over.”

Dean’s not exactly thrilled about taking orders from someone he’s known for less than a minute, but he figures even if this is some kind of trick, it’d probably be better if the stranger wasn’t at his back while he’s doing eighty. He pulls onto the grassy, flat earth on the side of the road and gets out of the car, along with Cas and Anna.

“Cas, I thought you went with Zachariah.”

“My mother showed up in time to stab him in the chest before he took me anywhere.” Despite the good news, Cas looks downright glum. Not that Dean can really blame him. Dude’s been through the ringer the past few days. Dean’s own head is still spinning and he already knew most the stuff Cas recently learned.

 _Most_ of it.

“Well, hey. Time to party.”

“Not exactly,” Anna says and pushes her hand against his chest. He feels a sharp, sudden burning that’s there and then gone as quickly as she removes her fingers.

“The hell was that?”

“I gave you the same sigils Castiel has on his ribs. Now, you will be hidden as well.”

“Okay. Uh… Speaking of sigils, you think you could maybe remove the one those dicks put on me? The one that flares up when we…. Y’know?”

Anna looks at him intently. Before he realizes it, she’s right in front of his face, her features scrunched up with scrutiny. Dean stands there awkwardly, not really sure what to do with an angel all up in his grill.

Finally, she murmers “Oh.” She lifts a finger and presses it gently to the left side of Dean’s nose. He sees a small flare of light, and then Anna’s suddenly out of his personal bubble and next to Cas.

Angels are fucking weird.

“I have to go now. The longer you two are with me, the more danger we’re all in.” She turns to Cas, presses her hand against his face. “If you ever need me, use your grace.”

“My grace?”

“It’s how you contacted me before, when Zachariah was threatening you. You’re half of both worlds, Castiel. Humans have souls; angels have grace. You have both.”

“Is that how I hurt Dean?”

“What are you talking about?” Anna asks, confusion furrowing her brow in a manner that reminds Dean of Cas.

“Dean,” Cas says, making eye contact with him for the first time since popping into his car. “Show her.”

Dean shrugs off his jacket and lifts the sleeve, showing Anna the handprint left there. She nods stoically, and Dean definitely sees the family resemblance. 

“Your grace comes with abilities. You already knew that. But you must learn to harness them correctly.”

“How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even know how to use them?” Cas sounds almost hysterical, close to tears at this point. Dean’s heart hurts for him.

“Do you remember your prayers?” Anna asks.

“I…maybe? Perhaps some of them…”

“Do you remember how to summon your tree?”

Cas takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then he begins speaking, a strange, guttural language that sends Dean back in time over two decades. He’s a small boy again, watching his friend use magical words to make fruit grow.

But it’s more than fruit Cas grows this time.

In the sky, there is a rumbling. A shift in the air. A dull light gleaming from the clouds. Then just like that, a tree is growing. The roots, the trunk, the branches, the leaves. It blossoms out of the sky like goddamn rose, and it’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

A car swooshes passed, and Dean’s paranoid hunter instincts override his awe. 

“Hey, what happens when one of these jerks driving by record this and put it on YouTube, or something?”

“They can’t see it,” Anna replies. “I don’t know why it chose you, Dean Winchester, but this tree cannot be seen by mortals, or even most immortals. There’s something about you that Castiel’s grace connected with, and gave you the sight. I hope you understand how important you are to him.”

Dean’s left speechless, and Anna turns to Cas, who looks a little winded. “Castiel, use your tree. It’s a part of you, and it will guide you in a way that I can’t when you’re trying to train yourself.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, so Dean decides to butt in. “No offense, lady. The tree’s friggin’ incredible, but how the hell’s it going to train Cas? It’s not exactly Mr. Miyagi.”

“The tree is made of Castiel’s grace. He and it are connected in a way you couldn’t understand. He was training when you two were children, learning the ways he could manipulate his grace into power. It was only small things, like creating your fruit, Dean. But he was learning how to control it in increments. You must start again, Castiel. You must relearn your grace so that you can fight off anyone who would do you or Dean harm. And so that you won’t lose control and hurt someone else.”

“Mom,” Cas whispers, and the way his voice shakes makes Dean turn to give them some privacy. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel. But I must. We will speak again, and if you absolutely must, you may call me. Stay with Dean.”

There’s a strange whooshing sound, and when Dean turns, Cas stands alone next to his tree.

“Your mom split?”

“Yes.” Cas’s voice sounds hollow.

“Well, hey. Think of the good news; we can start the Magic Tree Club again!” Dean reaches out to find the biggest bough, and pulls himself up into the foliage. He struggles for a good few minutes, and he hears Cas chuckle. But these days, he’s more coordinated that he was as a knobby-kneed kid, and eventually he gets himself situated.

He peers down proudly at Cas to show him, but Cas isn’t there anymore. A shuffling sound above him makes him look up, and the bastard’s already climbed further up than he has.

“Damn it, Cas! How’d you do that?”

“I’m starting to remember.” Cas shimmies down to where he’s sitting on a branch just barely above Dean. The angle’s a little awkward, but they can look at each other face to face without straining their necks. “My mother gave me my memories back, Dean. I remember you.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, and the solemnity with which Cas speaks makes him a little uncomfortable. He knows a serious conversation is coming, so he tries to lighten the mood. “I’ve always been a handsome devil, haven’t I?”

“I loved you, Dean. I’d never had a friend like that before, and you were the brightest soul I’d ever seen.”

“You can see my soul?” he asks, and he feels naked, laid bare for Cas’s new eyes.

“I can, and it’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah? Then why do you seem so damn gloomy to be around me all the sudden?”

“Dean.” Cas looks away as he speaks. “I know what my mother said, but you don’t have to stay with me.”

“Oh,” Dean says, and he feels more crushed that he has any right to be. “Okay, Cas. If you don’t want to stay with me, you don’t have to.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that to you.”

“Wait, what do you mean? I know we’ve had some pretty high ups and some fucking low downs, and it’s only been a few days, but… I thought this was working between us? I thought there was a connection, and I don’t feel connections to too many people.”

“You…” Cas swallows, and Dean can’t figure out why he looks so damn nervous. “You didn’t hear what Zachariah said? About your mother?”

Dean feels his face harden, ice spreading through his chest at the thought of what that douchebag did to his mother, or whatever angelic douchebag it was in his house that night. He’s glad Anna shanked his ass, but Dean’s a little disappointed he didn’t get to do the stabbing himself.

“Yeah, I heard. Glad your mom ganked him, at least.”

“But, Dean,” Cas pleads. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Dean’s never seen him look so devastated. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“It’s my fault your mother’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Dean grits out, and he’s all at once furious that Cas has been beating himself up over this. “Look, I spent years of my life thinking that my mom’s death was my own damn fault.”

“But you were just a child.”

“I know. It was stupid. But I felt like there was some way I could have saved her, and that I failed. It was probably me taking after my old man, trying to do all that macho bullshit. Took me until he died to realize what I should have seen all along; we’re just human. We’re not superheroes, and we couldn’t have saved her. We were up against something we had no idea how to deal with, and blaming ourselves for her death just caused shit-tons of unnecessary grief. You know whose fault it is my mother died, Cas? The sons-of-bitches that killed her.” Dean exhales, glad to have that off his chest. It’s something he’s known for awhile now, but it feels good to say it out loud. _It’s not my fault._ God, Robin Williams would be so proud.

Cas just stares at him. Finally, he says, “I’m not a human, though.” 

“Cas, please tell me that’s not all you got from my inspirational speech.”

“But—“

“I don’t care what you are, Cas. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“You really don’t care, though? You hunt the supernatural, Dean.”

“Yeah, and once you get your nephilim mojo flowing, you’ll be pretty damn good at hunting them alongside me, don’t you think?” 

“It’ll be dangerous; we’ll always be running. They’re never going to stop looking for me.”

“My life’s already dangerous. I’m already always running. Might as well be running with someone. Please, I want you with me, Cas.” Dean looks up at him, more hopeful than he’s been in a long time, about anything.

Cas stares back, and slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Are you counting Mississippis?”

“What?” Dean squawks. “Dude, please don’t tell me you can read minds!” 

Dean’s legitimately a little panicked about this; he can’t keep track of the dirty thoughts he’s had since he met Cas. But the dude’s just laughing his ass off, even wipes some leaking tears from his cheeks.

“Okay, changed my mind! You’re not allowed to come with me anymore.” Dean starts struggling out of the tree.

“No, Dean!” Cas gasps out. “I can’t read minds. Don’t leave me!”

But Dean’s already got his feet planted on the ground. Cas leans down through the leaves until his face is right in front of Dean’s pouting one. 

“You always mouthed them when we were kids. That’s how I knew.”

“I did not,” Dean mumbles, arms crossed. He doesn’t have to listen to this slander.

“You did!” Cas cries. “Sometimes you’d even whisper a little bit.” He makes his voice into a harsh whisper as he imitates little Dean. “One-Mississipi, two-Missisippi!”

To shut him up, Dean leans up and kisses the smartass right out of his mouth. When he pulls away, Cas’s eyes dance with mirth, and Dean can’t fight the smile that gives him away.

“You’re making me mulberry pie for supper,” he grumbles.

“Uh…” Cas looks a little ashamed. “I can provide the mulberries if you make the crust?”

Dean tsks. “Castiel Tate, are you telling me out of every birthday your grandma made you a mulberry pie, you never learned how to do it yourself?”

“I tried!” Cas exclaims. “But do you know how hard it is to pry a secret family recipe from an old woman? I asked how she made it once, and she just said ‘The same way I’ve always made it,’ and told me to go play!”

Dean cracks up. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you that. So, do you think… Ah, nevermind.”

“What, Dean?”

“I just wondered, did you ask for mulberry pie?”

“Yes, that’s one of my earliest memories. Or at least it was before my mother showed up and gave some back to me. But I remember when Grandma Tate found me, we didn’t know my birthday, so she decided to have a birthday party for me that day. She asked what kind of cake I wanted, but the only thing I wanted to try was mulberry pie. I didn’t know why, but I needed to know what it tasted like.”

Dean looks away from Cas and doesn’t say anything.

“There must have been some part of you still stuck in my mind, Dean, even after everything else was gone. That’s how much you meant to me.”

When Dean turns his face back to Cas, he doesn’t even try to hide the wetness of his eyes.

“Well, Cas. My mom had a damn good family recipe for mulberry pie. I guess I could share it with you.” He leans in for a softer, slower kiss, and when he pulls back, the world is a beautiful place.

“I’d like that, Dean.”

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/8/17- I forgot to make this note initially, but it might be worth mentioning that I haven't watched recent seasons of Supernatural. I'm vaguely aware that there's a nephilim character currently on the show, but Cas in this story isn't based off of that and his nature as a nephilim isn't supposed to reflect the current mythology of Supernatural.


End file.
